Tonight, the Atlanta Falcons will play in the second Super Bowl in the team’s history and go for their first championship. As they stand on the precipice of this historic moment, I think ti’s important to realize that as critical as fans can be, we should sometimes turn our critiques towards ourselves, and admit when we were wrong.

Last season, when Matt Ryan was totally off his game, I lamented that he had peaked and that he would never be more than a solid, unremakrable quarterback. Last night, he won the MVP and deservedly so. He’s been lights out. His growth this season has also highlighted how he reached where he has come now. He wasn’t a leader in the early days of the team as he let veterans take on that role. Now he’s finally stepped up, taken that leadership role, and it’s paid huge dividends.

I also said last season that Kyle Shanahan was the root of the team’s offensive woes, and that it was insane to keep him around. But as it turns out, Ryan and Shanahan just needed a season and some long talks to get on the same page. Combined with the right personnel and Ryan understanding this new system, the Falcons offensive has been outstanding. I’ll be bummed to see him leave to go coach the 49ers, and I hope that his replacement is as good at play-calling and working within the scheme that has given the Falcons unprecedented success.

After the Falcons imploded after last year’s 5-0 start, I wondered if this was the same old team. I couldn’t contain my fury after the home loss to the Chargers, crying out on Twitter how this was the same old team and that they couldn’t go the distance.

Yes, some things broke the Falcons way. When Julio Jones got injured, we had two of the easiest teams up on the schedule. The Seahawks lost the #2 seed, which made room for the Falcons to get a bye week and have home field advantage throughout the playoffs after the Cowboys lost to the Packers. But those are ultimately just opportunities, and the Falcons made the most of them. Even without Julio, the Falcons dominated the Niners and the Rams. They didn’t play down to their opponent. They destroyed them. When it came to home field advantage, they didn’t just squeak by the Seahawks and Packers. They won in decisive fashion.

I became a Falcons fan at the beginning of the Mike Smith era, which conditioned us to experience games the following way:

- First 2 quarters: The Falcons are doing great!

- 3rd quarter: Everything goes to hell.

- 4th quarter: Can Matt Ryan pull out a last-second win?

It’s become clear that the problem was both coaching and personnel, and that both have been remedied thanks to Dan Quinn’s clear vision on what kind of team he wanted.

I don’t know if the Falcons will win the Super Bowl. I think they have a real shot to do so. But either way, I’m sorry I doubted them, and I’m grateful for this amazing season.

As 2016 winds to a close, a common refrain on the Internet has been to blame the year for all of our misfortune. John Oliver even did a bit on how terrible this year was. And it was a bad year. Any year in which Donald Trump is elected President is automatically a bad year. And that’s before you take into account horrible events that happened around the world.

But then 2016 became the refrain any time a beloved celebrity died. To be fair, we definitely lost some heavyweights this year. And people should absolutely be allowed to mourn the loss of the artists who enriched their lives. But to rail against a calendar year as if it were cursed is just ridiculous, and it’s a little dangerous.

This notion that years are acting for us or against us helps to create a narrative and a common antagonist, but it’s the wrong antagonist and the wrong narrative because where does it end? I have some bad news: more celebrities are probably going to die in 2017. And in 2018. And so on and so forth. An actor or musician or someone who you’ve never met but greatly influenced your life is going to die at some point. Rather than respecting them as an individual who lives and dies like everyone else is more important than railing against a year.

Some people did have truly bad 2016s, but I’m willing to be those people suffered personal losses of some kind. And here’s the thing: personal losses can happen in any year. We hope that they don’t and we do our best to avoid them, but sometimes there’s nothing to be done, and tweeting “Because 2016″ doesn’t make anything better.

That’s not to say you shouldn’t work to make 2017 better than 2016. You absolutely should. Don’t accept that resolutions were made to be broken. Find a path to improving your life and work on it. That’s something you can control. That’s something where, if you’ve worked hard, you can look back at the end of 2017 and be proud of your accomplishment. But if your metric of a year’s success is something you can’t control–like, say, which celebrities live and die–then you’re probably going to be futilely tweeting, “Screw you, 2017,” as if the universe cares about your feelings.

2016 was rough. Don’t want 2017 to be the same? Recognize the things that are out of your control and fight like hell to make a difference where you can.

So liberal Twitter today got into an internecine spat about Trump’s comments over Mike Pence being politely addressed by the cast at last night’s showing of Hamilton. Pence was booed by the audience, and then after the show, actor Brandon Dixon addressed the VP-Elect in a serious but respectful manner. The following morning, Trump, incensed that anyone would chastise a powerful white guy, said the cast was rude and that they should apologize. It was Trump being Trump, but it was worth noting his hypocrisy, weakness, and inability to let any slight go by unnoticed.

Or was it? There was then a counter uproar saying that people who cared about the Hamilton incident were being distracted from the Trump University fraud settlement and that Trump is getting richer by having foreign diplomats stay in his Washington, D.C. hotel. Trump was using social media as a distraction so people wouldn’t call him on settling the Trump U scandal even after he had previously promised he would never settle (Trump lied! It’s true!).

So we have liberals chastising liberals over the proper way to respond to which scandals, and saying that this is Trump’s genius strategy: throw so many problems at people that they can’t focus, and he can get away with everything. There are just a few problems with this.

1) If “Trump Wins by Being on Twitter” was true, then why did his staff force him off of it in the final weeks of the campaign? “Aides to Mr. Trump have finally wrested away the Twitter account that he used to colorfully — and often counterproductively — savage his rivals,” wrote the New York Times on November 6th. The more Trump opens his mouth, the more opportunities people have to attack him, and during the campaign, his aides were smart enough to realize that if he could just shut the fuck up for more than two weeks, the news cycle would consume Hillary Clinton. (This, by the way, is not the sole reason Clinton lost)

2) Trump may have a lot of issues, but it’s not your place to tell people what they can and can’t care about. People are scared and hurting right now, and trying to police that outrage is sanctimonious and counter-productive. Let’s go back to the campaign, and assume that if all liberals had just focused on one issue to the neglect of all others, then Trump would have lost. So what issue should it have been? His sexist comments? His racist comments? His lack of political experience? His dealings with Russia? The Trump University fraud? Who gets to decide what’s important to everyone? Do you want to be the one who tells a woman who was sexually assaulted, “Hey, it’s rough, but we’ve got to keep the focus on his ties to Russia.” Do you want to tell the Muslim man, “I know he wants to criminalize being Muslim, but we can only care about his sexual assault charges.”

Trump does pose a unique problem in that he is a non-stop (to borrow one of his few and favorite words) disaster. It is difficult to pin him down to any one thing, but that makes it more important for all of us to care about all of it. And I know that’s exhausting. I know that in the last 10 days, it’s been nightmarish, and it’s not going to get any easier. Life is going to be hard, and it’s going to suck for a while, but telling people what they can and can’t care about isn’t a solution. Every day is going to be a struggle, and there’s no saying, “You are only allowed to care about these things.” It’s incumbent on all of us to hold Trump and his administration accountable 24/7. If that means today we rail against him for chastising artists, wiggling out of a fraud trial, filling his cabinet with racists, and profiting off foreign diplomats staying at his hotel, then that’s what the day calls for. It’s not going to be easy, it’s not going to be fun, and there is no alternative.

Why is a black life worth less than a white life in America? Or rather, why is that still the case in America after hundreds of years?

The refusal to indict Officer Darren Wilson in the death of Mike Brown and the refusal to indict Officer Daniel Pantaleo in the death of Eric Garner—and remember, an indictment is only the decision to make a case to go to trial, not a conviction—is shameful, and it’s not an aberration in American society. It’s just the latest outrage, except outrage might not be the right word. How outraged can we be if we vent in a series of tweets? How large can an injustice be if you can sum it up in a 140 characters or less or in a Facebook post? And I’ll admit: a blog post is poor solace as well.

We have all reached the point of helplessness, and we’re crying out because we have no idea how to change our current situation, or, perhaps more depressingly, we don’t want to. What’s our motivation if we feel we’ve reached catharsis with something we can type out on our phones while we’re in line at the store? With all the deaths of black people gunned down by cops, shouldn’t we have been motivated by now?

This is not a recent development. This is the lives of black people in America from the moment we dragged them here and enslaved them. And when they were free from slavery, they were segregated and killed with impunity by angry mobs. And when segregation was struck down, they were economically segregated and imprisoned.

The latest development is the most insidious because there’s no clear villain. There’s no plantation owner. There’s no George Wallace. People in prominent positions of power aren’t being openly racist. They simply allow racism to exist because reforming the prison system or cracking down on crime might make you look soft and there for unelectable, and that only by punishing the black people can the world be safe. And if you’re white, you are already absolutely safe from institutionalized discrimination.

If Officer Wilson or Officer Pantaleo killed a little white girl, they would quite simply be dead. The grand jury would indict in less than 10 seconds, and they would be convicted of first degree murder in less than 20. Meanwhile, police can shoot a little black kid who was playing with a toy gun because fear and itchy trigger fingers qualify as justified self-defense. Of course, they would never kill a little white girl, because they’re not threatening. Black people, in particular black men, are inherently threatening because that’s how they’re depicted in the media.

And I don’t know how you undo fear, and I certainly don’t know how you do it in the 21st century when whining on the Internet stands in for actual protest. Watching Selma a couple weeks ago, I was reminded that people had to physically organize, go outside, and then accept that they would probably have the shit kicked out of them regardless of race because they had the audacity to try and exercise their right to vote. It helped that there were clear battle lines, and now that those lines are gone, people seem to be lost at how to fight this battle.

We know right from wrong, but we don’t know how to right this wrong. Our African-American President says we should put cameras on police vests. It’s a practical solution, but also one that in no way addresses the core problem of racism in America (I believe Obama’s best service to the African-American community is to be a source of inspiration, because he certainly hasn’t done anything tangible for them even though they pretty much voted for him unanimously). Racism has become engrained into a far more difficult sphere—poverty. How do you solve poverty? How do you stop prejudice in our judicial system? There are huge socioeconomic factors at play, and they’re difficult to unwrap. It’s telling that we’re looking to entertainers like Chris Rock and Jon Stewart to provide solace because there’s no one in actual power who can change anything, and we’ve directed our energy towards brief reprieves of commiserating on the Internet.

I’m no better. I’m shouting into the void because I’m confused, lazy, upset, and deflated. This is a blog post on a blog nobody reads. I look at the sad cases of Mike Brown and Eric Garner and every other black man who is gunned down by cops for the crime of being a black man, and I feel awful not only because people are getting away with murder, but because I feel powerless to stop it. I see people going out and protesting, but what are their protests seeking to change? Slavery is abolished. Segregation is gone. What do we have other than feeling guilty, words on a screen, and then going about our business because deep down we feel that there’s no way to fix this problem? And if there is a long-term solution, I doubt it will come from blogs, tweets, and posts. It’s not enough, but after 400 years of how America has treated people of color, I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to do enough other than be ashamed.

Being a sports fan is so dumb. You get invested watching millionaires play a game, and forget that billionaires profit from it. You just see it play-by-play, game-by-game, season-by-season. And then you cheer anyway because home runs, touchdowns, slam dunks, and goals are exciting. It’s appeals to the lizard brain, and I fully admit it.

I write that preface to acknowledge that it’s somewhat silly to complain about the Braves. I’m not a sports expert. I have an emotional connection to the team since they hit their hot streak when I was growing up, but I can’t tell you everyone who ever played for them or even what certain stats mean (I’ve had slugging explained to me more than once, and I still don’t understand it).

But I love listening to the Braves on the radio. It’s what helps define my summer. It passes the time. Watching them on TV isn’t so bad either. I rarely attend games because it’s expensive, more time-consuming, and scheduling conflicts mean it’s hard to find someone to go with.

However, I didn’t let those obstacles stop me from going to tonight’s game. I hadn’t seen the Braves play at all this season, and the game would be followed by Weezer, whom I’d never seen in concert. It was win-win, at least until the Braves lost, at which point it became win-loss-win.

I wasn’t surprised that the Braves lost. I recently read an article where a Falcons fan described the team thusly: “They are bad at being good.” It’s a sentiment that could also apply to the Braves and to a lesser extent the Hawks. Even when the Braves were in first place, they didn’t seem remarkable. When our pitching dominated in April to save our crappy offense, it felt like a stroke of good luck rather than a formidable team. After all, we go through starting pitchers like toothpicks.

Eventually, the flaws became obvious, insurmountable, and after tonight, the Braves will be five games back in the division without only about six weeks left to play. Theoretically, they could claw their way back, but after watching tonight’s game, I’d be surprised if they put in the effort.

Tonight I learned that what the radio doesn’t tell you and what the radio doesn’t show you are details. Radio and TV is made of highlights. The little moments can be far more telling, and during tonight’s Braves game, I saw a team absolutely devoid of hustle. I know “hustle” is a word sports pundits like to throw away to lazily describe intangibles, but I think it fits the play I saw tonight. Throughout the game, the Braves’ defense refused to scrap for the ball. They lackidazically ran for balls, and refused to dive, sprint, or slide to try and make the out. Instead, they were content to just make sure the ball didn’t get behind them. They played conservatively and like they would get extra points if they didn’t get their uniforms dirty.

It’s dumb that I should feel like I want them to win more than they do. But a sense of lethargy pervaded the entire game. No one was enthused about Mike Minor’s pitching (he was fine tonight; his defense let him down); no one expects anything from this weak offense; and now there’s nothing going on in the field. The team exists.

When I looked at the upper deck of tonight’s game, it was pretty packed. It was packed with fans who found a way to get relatively cheap Weezer tickets, and the ballgame was a bonus. I can’t say I blame them. At least Weezer is willing to put on a show.

I’ve become a fan of many actors and actresses over the years, but Robin Williams was the first.

Williams was moving into a new stage in his career when I became a fan, but I didn’t know that. I knew him as Mork from Ork because Mork & Mindy played on Nick at Nite at 8:30pm, and I was allowed to stay up that late. And then I knew him from Mrs. Doubtfire and the voice of Genie and then Peter Pan. He was making movies for my demographic, and he was making me laugh. I didn’t know about his stand-up comedy or the rainbow suspenders or his drug addiction or his Oscar nominations or that he had more hair than a werewolf. He was warm and funny and willing to be goofy. He was a live-action cartoon but never felt false.

Then I got older, and naturally that came with being more critical. Not everything Robin Williams did was genius. He followed his Oscar-winning role in Good Will Hunting with a string of cloying pictures that all flopped. He was trying too hard. And then he took his career in a new direction by being dark. And then he became harder to pin down. He moved to supporting roles or family comedies and played a string of forgettable parts except for one.

There are many powerful performances in Williams’ career. Ranking them would be a disservice and a fruitless endeavor. But when I learned of his death earlier tonight, and after the initial shock followed by the deep sorrow–a sorrow I feel now and one that compels me to write this–I started thinking of his performances, and the one that rushed to the front of my mind was World’s Greatest Dad.

Being the critical snob that I am, I had managed to pigeonhole Robbins’ career, file it away, and be proud of myself that I had so quickly summed up his talents and abilities. He was no longer my idol; he was my subject. And in my summation, he was an actor who was at his best when he thought no one was watching. Sure, he had inspired people with touchy-feely stuff, but FUCK THAT. That’s not serious. No, he was a real actor when he was in World’s Greatest Dad because he knew it would never go mainstream. He was free and in that freedom he gave a performance that tapped into his biting comedy and his raw emotions like no other picture.

Of course, I was (and am) an idiot. I just watched The Fisher King for the first time tonight, and I see the same kind of amazing performance. It’s incredibly funny and painfully moving. I thought I had outgrown Robin Williams, and it turns out I still don’t know shit.

I’m not going to pretend he was the greatest actor of his generation of every one of his films was a gem, and as World’s Greatest Dad teaches us, honesty is a greater virtue than cloying sentiment. Emotions have to be earned, not manufactured. Time and again, Williams earned those emotions, and I’m sorry I wrote him off. And I’m even sorrier that I’ll never have the opportunity to tell him how much his comedy influenced me and what it meant to me.

He meant so much to millions of people, and yet it appears that his depression was so overwhelming that he couldn’t recognize such widespread acclaim. If you need proof that depression is a disease, look no further. Robin Williams was revered worldwide by millions of fans not to mention loved by family and friends. Depression doesn’t care. What’s most insidious about depression is that it puts you in a box where everything beautiful disappears, and all that remains is despair.

And I’m sure there will be those who suffer from depression, and as that depression sinks its fangs in deeper, it will distort reality and cause the victim to say, “Robin Williams was loved by millions and a huge success! If he can’t survive depression, what hope do I have?” That’s what depression does. It changes reality to where everything is inescapable pain and suffering.

I’m so sorry Williams saw no escape. I’m even sorrier for those closest to him. My pain seems trivial in comparison to those who lost a man who, by all the anecdotes I’m reading, was a lovely human being. Perhaps he felt their lives would be better off without him or that even the world would be better off without him. They’re not. We’re not. We miss you terribly, Mr. Williams.

If you suffer from depression, please, please, please find help. Don’t be ashamed to tell your loved ones. They love you and they want to help you. If you feel uncomfortable talking to them, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline. Even if you’re not feeling suicidal, they will still talk to you. They want to help you. And for the long haul, please find a doctor. It may take time to find the right medication, but once you find it, it will make you feel better.

I don’t have all the answers, but I swear to you there are answers. Suicide is never one of them.

Today, I got my braces off. The total amount of time I’ve worn braces in my life amounts to about 6 1/2 years.

Plenty of kids get braces. It’s almost a right of passage. Your baby teeth fall out, you accrue $20-$100 depending on the Tooth Fairy’s generosity (and her inability to determine the fair market value of teeth), and the new chompers come in crooked. But not to worry! Someone is going to jam metal in your mouth (and maybe even outside your mouth if you were sentenced to wear headgear and be a social pariah) and give you a nice smile at the end. People who have perfect smiles are 78% more likely to have rich, fulfilling lives according to a stat I just made up.

While nice smiles are all well and good, orthodontics can also correct real medical issues. That’s why I needed them.

But back on September 10, 1997, I didn’t know that. Other things I didn’t know: my hair would fall out; my Magic: The Gathering cards would never gain value; and Third Eye Blind is not a good band. On September 10, 1997, I was a plucky kid who was ready to get my braces on because that’s what kids do. They get the braces, they get the straight teeth, then they get the money, then they get the power, then they get the women.

My orthodontist at the time was Dr. Bougas, pronounced, “Boug-hass”. But to a 13-year-old kid, it was funny to call him “Dr. Bogus” because I’m sure he had never been subject to that mispronunciation in his life. I was hitting comic gold.

I assume there must be a medical code of ethics where you’re supposed to inform the patient as quickly as possible that that their lower jaw is still growing and the braces have been put on too early. I have complete certainty that Dr. Bougas was 100% ethical, and that these things just happen. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ll always wonder…”Did you really want to lob petty insults at the person handling your medical care?” To put it another way: Were I in his position, I would have said, “That’ll teach the little bastard.” We can all be grateful I did not go into the medical profession.

On February 2, 2000 the braces come off. There are retainers and plastic mouthguards, but neither can fend off the inevitable. My lower jaw is still growing, the teeth are still moving, 2 1/2 years down the drain.

We cut ahead to August 23, 2004. I’m now a college student, and as you can see by the picture below, a college student who has discovered a potent combination of fast food and sadness (also, I swear to God I am not high in the photo). But the jaw has finished growing, the underbite is in full effect, and now it’s time to correct the bite. The key is surgery. The braces go on, the surgery happens, the braces stay on, and voila! Straight teeth (I may have glossed over the amount of technical precision and medical knowledge involved in this process).

My orthodontist is now Dr. Mary Lynn Crews. Allow me to take a moment to say that Dr. Crews is one of the nicest people I have ever met. There are plenty of friendly doctors, but Dr. Crews is like sunshine in human form. If more people were like Dr. Crews, the world would be a better place. I honestly believe that. Also, more people would have great smiles.

So we have a gameplan: braces go on, surgery happens, braces come off, life is better. And it will all work out because while oral surgery is expensive, my family has medical insurance. As all know, medical insurers have never dicked over anyone. They are above reproach.

As we start coming to the oral surgery, we finally meet with the oral surgeon (Dr. Crews provided the referral). For this story, he shall go nameless, but it seems like all is well. He approves of Dr. Crews’ work, and surgery is a go…until it isn’t.

The insurance company said they were going to pay for it and then they said, “Yeah, we’re not going to pay for it. We said we would, but now we’re not, because we’re insurance, and we hate you. Thanks for paying for your braces. Again. Money well spent.”

The braces stay on to do what they can, but it’s futile. They can only do so much, and they come off on January 3, 2007. And this is where I get the warning. Yes, it’s possible that the lack of surgery may not have any long term repercussions. However, it’s also possible that later in life it may cause serious medical problems.

In 2011, I’m at the gym. I’m on the arc trainer, doing my morning work out, and I feel a strain in the side of my neck. It’s weird because I don’t lift weights or do anything that would cause that kind of strain. The only thing I could do would be talking with my crooked underbite that turns out to be pulling on a rope of muscle. Now the “repercussion” is happening, and while it’s not intense or incredibly painful, I fear it’s a harbinger of those serious medical problems.

Since I have no plans to cease talking (I quite enjoy it and everything I say is deep and insightful), the braces need to happen. We need to take this to the end of the line. I have new insurance. And this time I have a plan (cue action movie score). I figure that the problem last time was that the oral surgeon wasn’t involved from the beginning, so that when the insurance came around to double check, he was somewhat indifferent. I had only met with him once, so there was no real reason or even much independent evidence to back up my case. This is conjecture, but I believe he was the weak link.

Now I go to Dr. Bankston because he’s on my insurance plan. He’s also super nice (not as nice as Dr. Crews, but few are; again—sunshine in human form), and after doing his own measurements, he concurs that surgery is medically necessary and not purely cosmetic.

But there’s a twist because with insurance companies there’s always a twist. They’re like the M. Night Shyamalan of businesses. In order to show how serious I am about getting the surgery, I need to put the braces on before the surgery is approved. That’s like saying, “I’m going to jump off this building and then you’ll see how serious I am about that net.” But I need to jump, and unlike the last two times, I’m putting my own money on the table. My parents are still contributing to the monthly payments, but now I’m paying for it too.

For those who were lucky enough to never need braces: don’t share this fact with anyone. No one wants to hear it. However, you may be wondering, “What’s it like to get braces? What fun did I miss out on?”

First, I am surprised at both the advancements and stagnations in the field of orthodontics. For example, before I even got my braces on, I was offered a choice between metal ones which were less likely to break and more likely to work faster, and clear plastic brackets, which weren’t as good but were also slightly less noticeable.

I chose good, old-fashioned metal because there’s no hiding you’re an adult with braces. No one is going to do a double-take when there’s a metal wire across your teeth. There’s also no forgetting you have braces. Every time you show up in that office, you’re well aware you’re the only patient in the room who doesn’t need a slip explaining why you were absent from social studies.

You’re also aware of how much time has passed and how far technology has come in only 15 years. Dr. Crews took over the office from Dr. Bougas, so I’d been going to the same building since 1997. There were no major renovations. The office never felt dated even though it didn’t really change. But where 13-year-old me had to wait patiently and observe the world, 27-year-old me could use a tiny computer to quickly access the Internet. It didn’t make me feel old as much as it made me remember that we live in the future, and perhaps we should be slightly more patient when waiting for webpages to load.

With this kind of remarkable advancement in technology, surely orthodontics had followed suit. How had we only come as far as plastic brackets (Invisaline wouldn’t have worked for me)? We now had lasers to fix people’s eyes; where were the lasers to fix our teeth? I live in the 21st century, and I demand laser teeth. Unfortunately, laser teeth technology is still a pipe dream (in only my pipes and only my dreams), so we’re back to the old ways. The metal ways.

But before I can get to the metal, I have to explain “spacers”. If you ever had braces, you probably know about spacers, which are the most painful part of the procedure (assuming you don’t have surgery). Here’s the thinking behind spacers: “Your teeth are fucked up, but we need to fuck them up a little more in order to fix them.” (I know orthodontists don’t talk like this; orthodontists should talk like this; cursing makes you coooool) Tiny bits of plastics are jammed between your teeth to make space for the metal bands that will encircle those teeth. You won’t be able to eat anything for about five days because it will be incredibly painful. Welcome to braces!

Once they’re done with the spacers, the braces go on. The third and final go-round for me began on April 11, 2012. Metal bands are placed around the back teeth (this time, the orthodontic procedure began after I’d had my wisdom teeth removed by Dr. Bankston), brackets are cemented on to the teeth, and then they’re all connected with a wire that will be tightened in order to move the teeth closer together. I find it fascinating to think that some engineering and medical genius figured out that this would straighten people’s teeth. I also applaud the enterprising patients who overcame their horror at having this done to them.

When you get your braces on, you’re given a list of foods you can’t eat. This list greatly upset me when I was 13, but over the years, I learned it was more like guidelines. For instance, the list says that toasted bagels are forbidden. I assume this landed on the list because some idiot kid bit into a burnt-to-a-crisp, stale-as-hell everything bagel and broke all his brackets and got seeds stuck inside his bands. Potato chips are also not allowed, and again, I’m sure somewhere down the line some patient messed up his orthodontics, blamed a bag of Doritos, and on the list it went.

After having braces for over six years, I will now tell you the foods that you really should not eat:

Popcorn: Popcorn is dangerous because if one kernel slips behind your metal band, you’re going to be in a lot of pain, and there’s no way to get it out until the orthodontist can take off the band.

Chewing Gum: Technically not a food, but you can’t have it. Chewing gum will get wrapped around your braces.

Starbursts, Now and Laters, Taffy: They’re chewy enough to possibly pull off a bracket. However, gummi snacks like Sour Patch Kids are not. This demands a scientific study regarding candy elasticity.

And then there are foods you’d just be dumb to eat like uncut apples and corn-on-the-cob. You can do it, and then you can employ this bad-boy for the next half-hour:

It’s a tiny pipe cleaner and you’ll need it no matter what. Oddly enough, I don’t remember ever needing one until my third time with braces. But whether you’re eating bread, chicken, fish, or pretty much anything, you need the pipe cleaner and/or some serious tongue maneuvering/skillful suction. It’s not anywhere close to as sexy as it sounds and it didn’t sound that sexy to begin with. Yeah, it’s kind of gross. Read on to hear about my surgery!

15 days before surgery

Dr. Bankston does his due diligence, takes tons of photos and x-rays, submits them to the insurance company, they sign off, and we’re a go for April 19, 2013. To this point, I had never had surgery. I had never broken a bone or needed stitches. While I would agree that I’m very lucky, I would also point out that one’s risk of injury significantly decreases when you stay indoors and sit on a couch or at a computer (safety first, kids!). Now I would be getting stitches and a broken bone as an incision would be made high on my upper gums (you can’t even see the scar today) and my upper jaw would be moved forward.

Following the surgery, I had to stay in the hospital overnight with a bag of ice around my face, and then I spent about ten days recovering by staying bed, popping an occasional painkiller, eating pudding, and watching movies. How I ever made it through this ordeal, I’ll never know.

Then I had to wear a splint for about a month on my upper teeth, which prevented me from eating anything but soft foods, which gets very old, very quickly. I have come to despise oatmeal. However, pudding is still great. I lost ten pounds on the pudding diet! (I eventually gained it back)

Post-surgery and post-splint

When the splint did come off, my time with Dr. Bankston came to a close, and I was incredibly grateful for his terrific work (it also helped that he and Dr. Crews had worked together in the past, so there was almost no miscommunication or friction when it came to coordinating their work). The only strange thing about Dr. Bankston was that all the assistants seemed to refer to the patients as “sweetie”. It’s like when you go to Chick-fil-A and they say “My pleasure,” when you say, “Thank you.” It’s clearly a policy, but when an assistant who can’t be more than five years older than me calls me “sweetie” like she’s my grandmother, it’s weird. Not off-putting; just weird.

We then continued with the uneventful procedure of finishing up the orthodontics, and here I am with straight teeth, the ability to keep talking, and a newfound, lifelong fear of being punched in the mouth.

If you read all of this, thanks! It probably wasn’t the most entertaining read, but getting braces was a big part of my life, and I felt I need to document and share it. It was also my way of saying thanks to my parents who financially and emotionally supported me, and also to the practice of Dr. Mary Lynn Crews. Not only is Dr. Crews great, but so is everyone who works at her practice. If you or anyone you know ever needs orthodontics, go see her. It will be one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

After a one-two punch of the Falcons losing a close game on Monday Night Football and the Braves being eliminated after the normally reliable David Carpenter gave up the lead in the 8th inning, I’m wondering if it’s time for me to stop being a sports fan.

I know that’s awfully fair-weather of me, and that my attitude is why Atlanta is such a shitty sports town. But at the same time, these are kind of shitty sports teams because they’re bad at the worst possible moments. They don’t consistently suck. I assume fans with consistently crappy teams just accept them as lovable losers, or get a nice pick-me-up if their team should happen to win. Atlantans aren’t so lucky. The Braves and the Falcons have to give the illusion that they could go all the way. They have to give the illusion of a dramatic victory. And then they lose in a spectacular fashion. They lose on the most public stage possible, and the Atlanta fans get crushed.

The teams have been especially vindictive this year. The Braves won the division title for the first time since 2005. I had hope that a younger team might not have the baggage of older Braves teams that could never get past the first round of the playoffs. I was wrong. They were just as terrible. It would be nice to think that they’ll mature into a serious ball club, but that’s not going to happen. Something breaks in the Atlanta Braves when October comes around. And as for the Falcons, their weaknesses have emerged. After years of scraping by with thrilling victories, they’re now on the losing side and proving all their detractors right.

Detractors have plenty to crow about, and they’re not wrong. But as I tweeted both games tonight, I didn’t like myself. I felt like an absolute bastard who was clogging up people’s Twitter feeds with my negativity. A good sports fan is never resigned to failure. They hold on to hope until the last possible minute. They’re indefatigable. I thought I was a good sports fan, but I was wrong. And if I’m going to behave like I did tonight, then I shouldn’t get to call myself a Braves fan or a Falcons fan. I’m a spectator. I can cheer, and I can boo, but I can’t say I’m a fan. I’m as much to blame as the teams I’ve failed to support.